However, I wanted to address something that I see on my Facebook news feed all the time; in part because I find it insensitive and offensive, and in part because it simply is not funny.  At all.  I am talking about joke-type quotes regarding the “voices” in someone’s head.  Such as, “Four out of five voices in my head say ‘Go for it,’ or, “The voices in my head tell me you’re stupid.”  I could go on, but you get the idea.

Firstly, for anyone who actually has to deal with mental health disorders involving auditory hallucinations, it is offensive to trivialize what s/he has to go through on a daily basis.  Secondly, like 99.8% of the constant stream of “quotes” people put up on Facebook or other social media networking sites, it simply is NOT funny.  It’s not funny!  If you want to make a joke, why not come up with something on your own, instead of “sharing” a quote that makes the rounds in my newsfeed a dozen times in a day if it becomes popular?  Better yet, post an actual, original thought, rather than some regurgitated “wisdom” or “humor” with a “cute,” “funny,” or “pretty” picture attached to it?  Why not actually use your BRAIN and make up your own statement; write your own damn quotes!  Do you honestly think that nothing original can be said anymore?  Has it truly “all been done” before?  Perhaps, perhaps not, but at least make an attempt instead of chuckling or thinking to yourself, “Ooh, that is inspiring,” and clicking the damned “Share” button!

If I seem a little pissed off, it is likely because I am.  In particular, the “jokes” making the rounds daily in my news feed regarding mental illness are just uncalled for, and they offend me.  I would not make fun of someone’s cancer, or his heart condition, or her paralysis; why is it morally acceptable and “PC” to poke fun at mental illness, but not physical illness?  I would not post a “cutesie” quote on Facebook saying, “I’d kick your ass right now, but I’m paralyzed from the waist down.”  So why do YOU think it’s okay to poke fun at people with mental illness?  Some people DO hear voices.  It is not funny, and it is not acceptable to joke about.  It is a serious symptom of several mental disorders.  I’m sick of the double-standard when it comes to physical versus mental illness.  Sick of it.  You can call me “too sensitive” or “overreacting” if you wish, but that is how I feel about it.   This double standard has existed for decades, but, truth be told, mental illness can be and is just as debilitating as physical illness.  There should be no double-standard, whether from doctors, family, friends, or social media sites with their “cute” little quotes.

Rant over.  I hope to get back to at least a weekly blog, if not twice weekly, very soon.

02/20/2012

Thank you for bringing me into your home, and for keeping me forever and for always, not just “until” something happened.  Until you had a baby, until you got a new job, until you got a divorce, until you moved, until I got old.  Thank you for treating me as I should be treated; as a member of the family.  I got to do so many things, meet so many friends; there is so much I want to thank you for.  Here goes…

Thank you for giving me yummy treats, soft beds, fun toys, walkies, and good food.  Thank you for never forgetting to feed me and give me fresh water every day.  I know these things didn’t seem like much to you, but they meant the world to me.  I never went without, as I now know many dogs did.  Thank you for making sure I always had what I needed for my body to thrive.

Thank you for your patience.  I know that I made a lot of mistakes, and I know you were upset with me sometimes.  Thank you for teaching me instead of hitting me when I did something wrong.  I learned so much from you, and I was able to be a better companion for you because of it.  Thank you for making this training fun for me, with lots of attention and more scrumptious treats.

Thank you for taking me with you to places, so I could get used to new things, and meet more people and other dogs.  Thank you for teaching me that the world is not just the house and the back yard, but that there are many other places; the world is big, but doesn’t have to be scary.  You taught me that I could make friends in new places, that the car meant we were going to one of these special places, and making me so happy when I got to go with you.  It was always better, for me, when I got to go, instead of having to watch you leave without me.  Thank you for understanding that I sometimes got upset or bored when you left, and made more mistakes.  I just wanted to be with you always.

Thank you for playing with me.  Oh, the fun and games!  Balls, sticks, toys; chasing, fetching, finding.  Thank you for always taking time out of your day for a game of tug, or fetch, or teaching me a fun new game.  Games were so fun, and so were you.  Thank you also for keeping me safe.  Fenced in yards, leashes, and safe places to roam free with the condition that I return to you and not stray out of sight.  Although I sometimes felt bothered by this, I know now that it was better than being hit by a car, or stolen, or shot.

Thank you for taking me to the vet, even if I didn’t seem to like it.  You took me not only when I was feeling bad, or when I was hurt, but to make sure I was healthy and stayed that way.  Thank you for the medicines you gave me to keep the itchy bugs away, and to keep me free from those icky worms.  Thank you for keeping me healthy for as long as you could.

Thank you for understanding and helping me when I got old.  I still wanted to play and “go” with you as much as ever, but my body would no longer cooperate.  Thank you for helping me by adding things to my food to make my joints not ache so much, and thank you for slowing down on our walks.  Thank you for making sure I was comfortable, and for holding me when I was sore and tired.  Thank you for doing everything that you could to keep me keep me happy in my old age, and for not forsaking me in a shelter because I wasn’t as much fun as I used to be.

Thank you for helping me, when it was my time to leave my body.  If I could have, I would have stayed with you forever, but a dog’s body doesn’t last as long as a human’s.   Thank you for knowing, when I looked at you, that it was “time.”  Thank you for releasing me from my sick and aged body, which could no longer support me.  Thank you for the tears you shed, for your reassurances, and for holding me until I had left my body.

Thank you for grieving me; as I certainly would have grieved you.  Thank you for giving me the best life a dog could ask for.  And thank you, most of all, to opening up your heart and doing it all over again, so that more doggy souls will be thanking you some day.

With Love Always and Forever,

Your loyal, adoring former Dog

In Memory of Sparky  07/17/1995-12/05/2011

02/06/12

Sparky, age 16

I also grew up as quite the tom-boy; I loved Voltron and He-Man growing up, my sister used to have to bribe me to play Barbies with her, and I was more likely to be seen battling evil with my Voltron figurines or riding my Grandfather’s ponies bare-back for hours at a time, not playing dress-up.  Nothing much has changed; I do dress more like a “girl” I suppose, although a hoodie and jeans are still my outfit of choice, I wear makeup, but can’t really apply it well, and my hair is long, but I have no clue how to style it.  Enter a bat, however, and you will see me at my girliest.

I usually leave the door to the dog yard open on warm summer nights, so that the dogs can come in and out as they choose.  Maine is also quite cool in the evenings, so having a door open is refreshing as well as practical.  One summer evening, I leave the door to the dogs’ yard open, as usual.  The dogs are suddenly all inside, which is odd to me.  I check on them frequently, but they have all suddenly congregated in the house, even the husky, who would usually be out digging his craters for me to fill in and simply “being” outside for hours.  It only takes me about 15 seconds to find out why.  A bat has found its way into my home, and is currently flapping about in the kitchen.  I immediately devolve into a shrieking maniac, in part because there is a bat flapping around from living room to kitchen repeatedly, and in part because two of my dogs, my Siberian Husky and my American Bulldog, are making leaps to try to catch the bat periodically.  They would wait for the bat to fly low in his attempts to find a way out of this small “cave” and would leap into the air, jaws snapping shut with a clatter of teeth and a small grunt of effort, but the tiny flying creature kept dodging them.  I am ashamed to admit that, for a few moments, I became the silly, girly, shrieking mess that most expect a girl to become in the presence of a bat.

The bat eventually takes refuge against a wall in the living room, having exhausted itself.  I manage to corral my dogs into the dining room/kitchen area, and prepare to rescue the bat.  It moves several times; evoking even more embarrassing shrieks and screams from me.  Eventually, the bat moves to a wall adjacent to the door I need it to leave from.  I pluck up my courage and scoop the bat into my hand from the wall (while shrieking) and toss it (gently, or at least I think/hope) towards the door.  He finds his way out through the door, and I slam it shut behind him.

I am certain the bat was more petrified than I was, which is hard to imagine, but there was no bat caught by the dogs, and, more importantly, no bat caught in my (too) long hair.  After the event was over, it took me quite a time to calm down, as did the dogs; they thought the bat was a wonderful toy. In the end, the bat was released into freedom, and I reaffirmed myself as a lover of all animals, even though some of them scare the shit out of me when they enter my home.

01/29/2012

Since I seem to be experiencing writer’s block, but want to keep this blog going, I am posting a short paper that I wrote regarding the authors/books who have influenced me, as a writer, and have helped me to develop my writing.  There are many more that I could add, but, for brevity’s sake, I kept it rather short and to the point.  I hope to have something “new” by the end of the week.  This will no doubt occur if I continue to not be able to sleep, so we shall see how the week progresses.

“It Builds Character”

The works I have chosen, thus far, to include in the list of works that have influenced me as a writer, vary quite drastically in some ways, yet are extremely familiar in others.  The reasons that most of these works struck a chord with me and influenced my developing style and preferences were normally similar, and involved character, setting description, the development of a “timeless” quality, a “following” or series (the development of an ongoing story with a devoted readership), speaking up for those who cannot speak for themselves, feminism, and unique points of view.

At first glance, one might not see many similarities between Anne Rice’s “Interview With The Vampire,” James Herriot’s “All Creatures Great and Small,” L.M. Montgomery’s “Anne of Green Gables,” or J.K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,” but the reasons that these works made my list are quite similar.  Rice, Herriot, Montgomery, and Rowling all successfully created a devoted following through their initial novels that sparked a subsequent series by each author.  Whether enchanted by a young country vet’s adventures, the lives of a complex mix of vampires throughout the centuries, the trials of a hot-tempered, red-haired orphan girl, or the destiny of a young wizard in a secret world within our own, each author developed a devoted following.  They ensured the success of their future works through their superb character development and interesting story lines throughout.  I strive to develop characters as “real” as those created by these three authors, as easy to become totally involved with and longing to know more and to continue on.  I want to be the type of writer whose readers cannot wait for the next book in my series to be released.

Other works on my list influenced me in different but no less emphatic ways.  Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby” and Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye” are both works that I didn’t initially like upon my first read, but when I re-read them in college, I found myself struck by how important the “time” is in a piece of creative writing. The time period in which each of these works occurred is a very important factor in the way that the stories play out, and brings more understanding to the world of Gatsby and Holden.  Not only that, but the character development of Gatsby and Holden, although the point of view is different in each work, is superb, something that was a must for every work on my list.  It is important for the reader to know time and place, and I always try to remember this in my writing.

I put S.E. Hinton’s “The Outsiders” separate from every other work, because this work inspired me differently than most others.  I was struck at what a young age Hinton was when this novel was developed, and inspired me, even as a young writer, to believe that I had something in me that others wanted to hear.  Hinton’s piece also offers sound character development, as well as the “period piece” aspect that is so important to the work; the early years of “gangs” and “cliques” made this story possible and successful.  Hinton showed me that authors can be respected no matter their age, and that if you believe you have “something” with a story you are creating, you should try your hardest to ensure it “makes it.”

Another piece on my list standing alone is Jack London’s “White Fang,” made my list for the reason the unique perspective it presented, even in its time frame, of the value of the lives of animals.  Herriot’s works also address this, but London’s portrayal of White Fang as a thinking being, with emotions and feelings, inspired me to also speak for those who cannot speak for themselves; the animals we share our world with.

The final two works in my anthology, Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God,” and Lamb’s “She’s Come Undone” are rather feminist works, taking place in very different times, one chronicling the life of a black woman in the days just after the end of slavery, and the other is a modern-day story of an obese girl.  Both characters must overcome loss, trauma, prejudice, stigma, and their own insecurities.  The perspectives of these female characters are raw, real, and evoke a lot of emotion in the reader.  The plight of women’s rights, of prejudice, whether race or weight, are heavy topics, and topics that continue in their need to be addressed and improved upon.  These works influenced me in that, in addition to writing to entertain my audience, more can and should be achieved through creative writing at times.  This is not to say that a work produced solely for entertainment is lesser than a work that addresses a current, major societal “issue,” but that, at times, it is important to address these issues.

First and foremost, in every work I have included on my list, character development is absolutely key.  If the reader does not care about the characters, she or he will not care about the next book in the series, won’t care if Gatsby’s dreams are achieved, if Holden gets the help he needs, if Ponyboy is able to continue on with life, if White Fang can find trust and love with a human, or about women’s rights and prejudice in society.  Without character development, the reader cannot become truly invested, which is why character is the most important aspect in my writing.

I remember

huge feet

puppy breath

love.

I remember

anxiety,

fear, around the

dogs.

I remember

you coming around;

loving, caring, part of

the pack.

I remember

the very day

it all changed.

I remember

the behaviorists,

the trainers,

the vets.

I remember

“remedies” and

drugs.

I remember

radiographs, and

bafflement.

I remember

torn bodies, torn minds,

and torn

spirits.

More importantly, though…

I remember

endless kisses,

doggie hugs.

I remember

walks together,

alone.

I remember

high-tailed

investigations.

I remember

endless sessions

of fetch.

I remember you

sleeping on

your siblings.

I remember

cuddle sessions

with your big

brother.

I remember

supervised play-time

with little Mo.

I remember

how much

you loved them.

I remember

simply sitting with you

at my side.

I remember

snuffles and cuddles

when I hurt.

I remember

dancing

in the kitchen

with you.

I remember

soft, gentle paws

on my

shoulders.

I remember

picking you up

like a lap dog

at 90 pounds.

I remember

our last days

together.

I remember

you

licking my salty

wet face.

I remember

you reassuring me,

as I tried

to reassure you.

I remember

all you wanted,

all you needed,

was me.

I remember

your pain.

More importantly,

I remember

Your Love.

Endless.

As mine is for you.

I hope

things are better

for you now.

I hope

your pain

physical and mental

have vanished.

I hope

you have

moved on.

I hope

you are having

a better

next life.

I hope

you will still

love me when

the time comes.

I hope you will know me.

I hope I will know you.

And I hope, beyond all,

we have a joyous reunion.

Whenever the time comes.

01/20/2011

Hello,

I am an experienced dog owner and rescue advocate, and am writing in response to this article:

http://our-compass.org/2011/12/01/new-policy-requires-all-chows-danes-dobermans-mastiffs-rotties-shepherds-all-bully-breeds-to-be-killed-nc-shelter/ 

It states that “There is a breed ban set to go into affect Monday the 5th of December all Dobermans, Rottweilers, Chow Chows, German Shepherds, Great Danes, Pit bulls, Mastiffs (all bully breeds), Akitas and Huskies.”  This will be taking place in Cumberland County Animal Control in Fayetteville, NC.

May I ask who proposed such an ignorant and baseless proposition?  Why should dogs of these breeds and backgrounds (taking into account that most shelter workers cannot tell a Pit Bull from a Boxer… or a Maltese, for that matter) be targeted?  More Pit Bulls than any other breed pass the ATTS; The American Temperament Test Society, Inc. (ATTS) which is a national not-for-profit organization for the promotion of uniform temperament evaluation of dogs.

How does it make sense to kill “bully breeds” when they are one of the highest scoring dogs on these tests, which are much more accurate and uniform than those conducted in any shelter.  And what is your basis for all of these other breeds on your list?  Just because you get a lot of them in?  Because they are larger breeds of dogs?  What is your reasoning?  Killing a dog because it is or “might look like” a particular breed is not solving anything.  If the shelter is worried about what will happen after these dogs are adopted, why not draft a waiver, freeing the shelter of any liability if the dog harms another animal or a person?  This is dog genocide, and dog racism.  Breed discrimination solves absolutely nothing.

Please think carefully about what you are saying about dogs, and about yourselves as a county and state.  You are saying that you WILL judge something by its appearance, rather than by the content of its character.  Does this go for people as well?  Is your foster care system going to start euthanizing children of a certain race, because, in your ignorance, your County has decided that particular race is somehow more of a liability, more of a “danger?”  You are saying that you want to kill dogs that are probably the most frequent to enter shelters, because of the over-breeding of these animals, to take the easy way out by killing them under some blanket ban rather than allowing people to decide for themselves what breed is compatible with them, and what breed they would like to adopt.  You are committing to killing, without reason, thousands of innocent dogs for every one dog that MAY have temperament issues.  You are creating a toe-hold for more ignorance and BSL, which is blatant disregard of actual animal behavior, so that you can kill more dogs.  You are admitting that, although a “shelter” implies a place where dogs can go and have a chance at finding a new family, while being cared for, your “shelter” is nothing more than a place dogs of a certain appearance go to die, without a chance, without a hope, without ANY assessment whatsoever.  You are admitting to committing breed genocide.

Being in a shelter is traumatic for any dog.  The dog has lost their owner, their family, everything that they knew.  The shelter environment is not a good place to evaluate a dog’s behavior.  I direct you to a video that shows just how different a dog will behave when in the presence of her owner, and out of the shelter environment:  http://www.petfinder.com/blog/2011/12/01/pit-bulls-and-parolees-tia-tor/ 

As you can see, when reunited with her owner, this dog turns into a different animal entirely.  Think about the stress that your “environment” puts on ALL dogs.  ANY dog can become so traumatized and stressed in this situation that they may seem unstable, but once they are in a home with a responsible owner, and develop a bond, they do absolutely fine.

Regarding owners… THIS is where you should make your changes.  Not by targeting certain breeds, but by targeting certain types of owners.  Require potential adopters to pass a simple “responsible dog care” test.  Require that owners know about the breed of dog that they are interested in obtaining.  Ensure a good match between owner and dog.  Ten times out of ten, (yeah, that would be 100% of the time) it is not a dog’s fault for a human or animal injury, it was the dog’s owner’s fault.  We need to put the focus and the laws upon OWNERS, not DOGS.  Responsible dog ownership, not breed discrimination.

I ask you to think about this carefully.  I am the proud owner of a Great Dane mix, an American Bulldog, a Siberian Husky, and a medium sized mixed-breed dog.  Under this blanket ban you are considering, all four of my dogs would be dead if they entered your shelter.  All four of my dogs are well-trained and good canine citizens.  I do own a dog who is dog-reactive when on leash, but I am a responsible owner, and manage my dog.  That is what it comes down to.  ANY breed of dog, any type of dog, can develop fears or temperament issues.  There is not any proof that dogs of the breeds mentioned in your “ban” do any more harm than the Chihuahua that attacked me five years ago, or the Cocker Spaniel who attacked a dear friend of mine, disfiguring her face.  It is up to the OWNERS to train, manage, and be responsible with their dog(s), no matter the breed.

I ask you to reconsider this blanket ban; create a waiver, and adopt policies that focus on responsible pet ownership of ANY breed of dog.

Thank you for your time.  Do the right thing.

Gina Brayson

North, South, East, West,

hear this witch’s small request.

For there is a soul so sweet,

whose fears and ills she could not beat.

Please Goddess find my Maisy Mae,

help her soul to find its way.

Never a heart so pure and true,

but the Darkness found its way, seeped through.

Her fears consumed her, illnesses strike,

nothing could save her from her plight.

She may be battered, tired and sore;

she may not want to fight anymore.

Please Goddess, lift her fears away,

‘til every one has gone astray.

Replace her ills with joy and glee,

so in her next life she can be

what she was and is to me,

to all that she shall know and see.

Much happiness she’ll receive and bring

if the Darkness can no longer cling

and eat away her trust and faith,

‘til her soul is like a wraith.

I speak truth, as I live it now,

there is no escape, we know not how.

Do not let her soul flounder longer,

She deserves to be brave and stronger.

I ask for a most precious soul,

please help mend her, fill in her holes,

Her next life shall be happier than hers with me.

As I write, so let it be.

(January 2009)

P.S.  I hope my girl is living her next life, pain and fear free.  I love you Maisy…

Fast forward almost another month.  I re-injure my back falling down the basement stairs on January 11th (yeah, I know that doesn’t line up with my 13 scheme here, but bear with me).  Doctor puts me out for two days.  I return to work again on the 13th, settle in, and start my work day.  I’m working in over-drive to make up for the time I’ve missed.  I notice the regional manager has made his way to our little office, which has gone from eight full-time employees (of the same ilk as my case management type position) to three in the eight years that I have worked there.  So… why is he here?  There aren’t any meetings or trainings scheduled for today.  I start to feel uneasy.  My supervisor pokes her head in my door and asks if I can meet with her and the regional manager briefly.  I hobble around the building hallway (our building was like a giant rectangular hallway with offices bordering the outside and inside of the hallway) and reach the regional manager’s office.  I sit, with some difficulty, and, after the condescending beating “around” the bush for about ten minutes, the regional manager begins beating the bush in earnest.  My position has been terminated, as of Thursday, the 13th.

Terminated, what a ridiculous word to use when they’re essentially telling me,  ”Hey, you’ve used up too much sick time, we don’t have any obligation to keep you here anymore because the law says we don’t have to, and your salary is a little too high after eight years, even without a COLA last year, so let’s just say, you’re done.  We don’t want you anymore, and plan on either loading up your workload onto the backs of the two remaining employees, which is what we’ve done every other time, or hiring some starry-eyed, ‘I’m gonna change the world!’ fresh out of college dimwit who we can pay a pittance, and who will burn out in two years.  Go pack up your office (with your back injury and all), you’re done.”  (Did I mention I was working in the social work field?)

The regional manager is kind enough to offer, after seeing my tear-soaked hands struggling to reach the boxes they had so nicely offered for me to load and get the hell out, to pack up my office for me.  But no, I am too proud for that, and limp out of his office to do it on my own.  After avoiding everyone I could (it was fairly easy; my two coworkers were both out, one sick (she ended up never going back… karma for them, I suppose) and one out in the field, so there was just me, the regional manager, my supervisor, our only therapist, and the secretary.  I did go into the secretary’s office a few times, in my red-faced puffy-eyed glory, to file some paperwork.  I may have just been “terminated” but I’m not going to leave anything unfinished, damn it!  What I don’t do is call my clients; I definitely don’t want them hearing from me right now.  (Technically, I wasn’t “allowed” to.  There were some I was going to miss quite a bit, and some I would later drink a toast to being rid of.)

Just as I am finishing my shuffling, pain-riddled assault of my office, ensuring that all documents that needed filing are filed, all confidential documents are shredded, and all of my “personal effects” deposited into the boxes, the therapist sticks her head in my office to say she heard that I hurt my back, and she knows how long-lasting those injuries can be, and she hopes I’ll be feeling better soon.  She is fairly new (therapists burnt out at our office faster than case managers) so doesn’t notice at first my current state of disheveled officeness and my bright eyedness as I will myself to have a normal conversation with her.  She quickly picks up on it though, and makes a swift exit.  I begin shuffling at a faster rate; I need to get the hell out of here before I lose it.  My supervisor inquires about a poster during one of the many times she walks by (I think she was waiting for me to ask for help).  It was a poster I had up from the very first day I had an office, of a Chihuahua and a Great Dane.  The Chihuahua is saying, in a thought bubble, “Think big.”  I look at it for a moment, and, although what I wanted to say was, “I won’t be needing this anymore,” what I actually said was, “That’s getting old,” and dramatically tear it from the wall, crumpling and ripping it up, and throw it into the garbage.  My supervisor retreats (and didn’t walk by my office again).

I then lock myself in the bathroom for about ten to fifteen minutes to compose myself, getting angry as tears continued to form, and cursing them, willing them away until I am successful.  I then ask my supervisor if I can pull my car around to the back door, and if she would open it for me when I came around, as it cannot open from the outside without a key.  She says she would, looking as though she had been crying.  I pull my car around, and she insists on at least carrying my boxes out to my car for me.  I surrender my keys and cell phone to her, and my ID badge.  I sign some form saying I had done so.  (Everything at this point was like watching a movie; “I” had gone.  Gone away.  I was not doing these things, someone else was.  I was just watching, as the last eight years of my life working for  this agency were abruptly ended.  My supervisor broke down outside after she loaded my boxes into the car; all I could think was that she didn’t have a coat on, and it was freezing (it was January 13th in Maine).  She said she hoped I could get back to “a good place” again, or something like that, and said she knew I didn’t like hugs (I don’t know about that, I’m more against strange people who want to touch my shoulder as they talk to me, things like that) so she wouldn’t give me one.  ”I” said I would give her a hug anyway, hugged her, said something I don’t remember, got into my car, and left.)

That was one year ago today.  Happy one year of being unemployed to me.  I figure I’ve applied for at least 100 jobs, if not more, in the past year, maybe 150-200, but a lot of those were “repeat” applications, been to only five interviews that I recall, and was offered one single job, that was subsequently “un-offered” when my car broke down and I couldn’t get to my first day.  On July 13th.

P.S.

So, what has happened this Friday the 13th, you might ask?  It started a bit after midnight, with my Great Dane mix acting as though she were bloating (it’s serious, and expensive), pacing and panting.  She vomited inside, had diarrhea outside, then acted fine.  I, however, was a high-strung, panicked wreck, and couldn’t sleep until after 4am.  I called the unemployment office for the bazillionth time about underpayments and extensions and this and that, and continued to receive the message, “Due to high call volume, we cannot take your call at this time,” after going through the whole number menu system.  I called eleven times today.  Eleven.  To top it off, I almost hit a small child hurtling down the road on his mini-snowmobile while trying to back out of my unplowed driveway to go to the store, then, within two minutes of that, narrowly missed hitting two deer as they crossed the road.  While putting gas in my car, I slipped in the slush and wrenched my back.  You’re just screwing with me now 13, aren’t you?

Pretty sure this black eye happened on a “13th” day too….